


Prima Donna on Scene

by ilyena_sylph, Merfilly



Series: Daughter of Gotham [8]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilyena_sylph/pseuds/ilyena_sylph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashlea has growing concerns on the Batman's role in town. In other news, a newcomer is turning heads even while the Batman is getting clawed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prima Donna on Scene

Batman finished securing the guy in the giant moth costume, swiftly shooting a line up to get away. The police still wanted the Batman too much for Ashlea to risk lingering, even though there were so many questions.

This was not the first costumed rogue to turn up in the city. From Ashlea's careful monitoring of other cities with vigilante activity, there seemed to be a pattern building. A costumed vigilante appeared, tackled the city's crime, and within months, at least one criminal took up a costume of their own to retaliate.

If this was turning into a pattern of escalation, what was she going to do to keep her city safe? She'd invented the Batman to help, not hurt.

It was a mystery for later as she hid among the shadows on the roof to wait for the police to acquire the suspect in several kidnappings.

* * *

"Not another one," Alfred said, after tut-tutting to find Ashlea mending another cape. The woman looked up with a most recalcitrant look in her eyes.

"It was that thief, again," she said, still uncertain how the woman in her skintight cat-suit -- literally, with ears and a tail -- kept both evading her and cutting the cape with her whip.

"Could it be, Miss Ashlea, that your knowledge of her methods leave you more loathe to apprehend the burglar in question?" Alfred asked, taking the cape and bonding agent away from his ward.

"Stealing from the corrupt rich is not exactly a humanitarian effort," Ashlea said, trying to sound as certain as she could be on the matter. It was that he could hear the attempt that told Alfred she was not at all sure as she meant to be.

"As you will," Alfred told her, rather than debate that point. He knew she'd turn the matter over for... internal debate, as it was.

* * *

Ashlea didn't even bother to do more than pretend to hide the yawn behind her champagne flute, giving off the bored dilettante look to go with it. At least this little event should be over at a halfway decent hour, given that there were more people in their seventies than not in the milling throng. She'd had a late night, so the earlier this event ended, the happier she would be. 

A stir near the doors caught her attention, drew her eyes... and she could certainly see _why_ the stir. The woman who'd just entered was stunning, wearing a black, shimmering dress that accentuated every curve of her figure. The dress came up around her throat with a choker-style collar, but as the woman turned to greet one of Gotham's elder financiers, Ashlea saw it had the near backless effect. The skirt hugged at the hips but had a moderate flair from there. This new woman kept her hair styled much like a vamp of the silver screen era, bringing to mind such women as Jean Harlow.

From the other greetings she was replying to, this newcomer had already made the acquaintance of several of Gotham's worthies.

Interesting. Very interesting. She didn't recognize this woman at all. Curious, she brought the flute with her as she strode through the crowd, trying to decide which of the people the stranger had already greeted she could convince into giving her an introduction -- or at the very least, a little information . Him, or her, or... not Alan Scott. Curious that the media mogul had not been among them… and Ashlea's brain clicked the pattern into place. All of the men that had greeted her were widowers, single, or known to pursue women outside their marriages.

There was Dixon Moore, a middle-aged widower, friendly enough but something of a lush even for the cocktail crowd, and he was smiling still from having spoken to the mystery lady. He might do. "Dixon," she called, once she was a foot away or so, "how are you tonight?" 

Dixon turned his smile to her, but it was a little more distant than the one he'd offered the mystery lady. "Ashlea, surprised to see you… oh wait, this was one of your mother's endowments, wasn't it?" he responded. "At least the catering has improved the selection of social lubricants." He tipped his glass in her direction. "As to how, I am doing marvelously well lately."

"I'm glad to hear that, Dixon, and yes, it was," she agreed, managing to smile at the reminder of her mother's hand here. "It's not often there are new faces at these," she looked over towards the stranger, then back to him, curious, "especially one as lovely as she is..." 

The man gave an almost amused snort at Ashlea. "You wouldn't know her, would you? I heard you were in Aspen for the Charity Casino event. That's Kitty Grimalkin, heiress to one of those small Scottish distilleries," he answered.

"Yes," she agreed, "I was. Kitty, hm? Thank you for placing her for me, dear." She smiled at him and went back to circulating, intending her next pass through this part of the room to bring her into the other woman's immediate orbit. 

The elegant woman had several admirers, including a few who had tried to court Ashlea's attentions over the last year. Kitty seemed to be a little younger, but carried herself with all the poise of a socialite born to it. 

Finally, their paths intersected quite naturally with Kitty looking up at Ashlea with a polite, vaguely interested smile. "Well, I do think this is an honor. Ashlea Kane-Wayne, yes? Or do you not use the full name? Kitty Grimalkin," she introduced herself with full poise and charity in her voice.

There was something familiar in that voice, but Ashlea had no idea what it was, especially since she rarely heard that rich, softly Scottish accent. It nagged at her, even as she flashed a cheerful smile and reached out to shake hands. "I do use it, but it's such a mouthful," she answered, "and it's a pleasure to meet you. How are you finding Gotham, Miss Grimalkin?"

"It has been a delight to visit. So many beautiful things to see and learn all about," Kitty answered her. "Quite the art collection scattered through your museums and among the notable families. Do you appreciate fine art?"

"I appreciate beautiful things," Ashlea replied, smiling a little playful and a lot wry, "which sometimes means that I am on entirely the wrong side of 'fine art'. But yes, we do have several wonderful museums, don't we?" 

Kitty laughed lightly at Ashlea's words, then nodded. "I do agree that sometimes the definition of art is stretched and narrowed out of shape. I just appreciate the wealth of it all, as a richly executed piece brings me such joy," she answered. She had to tip her head and smile at one of her admirers then, and Ashlea noticed the focus divide, making the man feel noticed, but still concentrating on Ashlea. "American men are so bold," she said in a lower tone. "Yet generous in their own ways."

Her nerves twitched again, something in the way Kitty's first sentiments were phrased telling her that something was strange, and yet, she couldn't quite disagree, either. Then there was that last, and she snorted softly. "I don't know that American men are, on the main, that different than any others... but you are European, where I only visit. And sadly... I seem to intimidate most of them right out of boldness, somehow." 

Kitty looked from the athletic figure up to her full height, pointedly. "I just can't imagine," she said with a sly smile. "Well, Miss Kane-Wayne, I should probably be sociable to my new friends here. I'm certain I will see you around a bit more."

The glance and the slyly sardonic tone made Ashlea grin, more real than she often let out, and she said a soft, "I hope so," before she stepped a little back and away. "Do enjoy your evening with us, Miss Grimalkin." 

Kitty flashed her a devilish smile. "I always enjoy my nights," she purred before smoothly moving to take up conversation with Devin Perez.

+++


End file.
